Prisoner of CellBlock A
by Karen11
Summary: This is an AU story about prison warden Logan meeting a former female inmate and tempting fate.


Title: Prisoner of Cell-Block A

Author: Karen

E-mail:

Disclaimer: Unfortunately Logan and company belong to Marvel and Fox, because if they belonged to me, I'd have them doing this all the time and the comics and movies would be in the 'adult' section.

Archive Rights: Postcards From The Edge – all others, please ask first.

Rating: R

Summary: This is an AU story about prison warden Logan meeting a former female inmate and tempting fate.

Author's notes: I was watching one of those half-hour raunchy shows on Cinemax that actually had some semblance of a plot and thought it would make a great AU X-Men fic. Hey, any excuse to get Logan naked, panting and thrusting – right? I don't remember the specifics of the dialogue, so none of this is a direct copy from the show. In fact, I missed the first ten minutes with the entire set-up, so I've created my own scenario.

Thanks and air kisses to Terri, Taryn & Heather for the beta and to Heather for the 'post-orgasmic coma' suggestion.

~ Prisoner of Cell-Block A ~

Logan Hunter stared out of the window of his office, surveying his domain – the Westchester Women's Correctional Facility. As the Warden, he was ultimately responsible for the 200 women who'd broken the rules of proper society and found themselves guests of the County. It may not have been as exciting as his former job – detective for the NYPD, and God knows he missed the adrenaline rush, but his current structured schedule was better suited for family life. Not to mention that the odds of getting shot were drastically reduced. Marie and the kids were happier now with his more traditional 'nine-to-five' routine and that's what really counted in the end.

He gave a deep sigh and was just about to turn back to his desk and the paperwork that he'd neglected for the past hour when a scuffle down in the yard caught his attention. He saw Officer LeBeau, formerly with the Louisiana State Correctional System, move to pull the inmate known as Storm off of one of the new arrivals. He watched as she released Betsy, swung around and clocked LeBeau with a solid right hook.

Picking up the phone, he asked his secretary to notify the solitary wing to expect Storm and to have her usual accommodations waiting. Looking back out the window he saw that Officer Drake was now assisting in wrestling her to the ground. Just as LeBeau had finally managed to cuff her, she got in one last good kick, which would leave Drake with a black eye as a souvenir, before she was dragged off flailing and screaming obscenities.

With the show over, Logan sat down in the worn leather chair and resumed picking through the stack of files that could no longer legitimately be ignored. An hour and a half later his secretary, Agnes informed him it was officially time to call it a day. Marie and the kids were visiting her mother in Connecticut for a few days and he was in no particular hurry to go home to an empty house and a frozen entrée. He worked for another half an hour before deciding that sleeping in a bed whose sheets still had the faint scent of Marie's perfume beat falling asleep at his desk.

On the way home he passed by Jack's Bar – the favorite watering hole of some of his officers and other local law enforcement. Logan had never bothered joining his men after their shift, preferring to have his post-work beer sitting in his own kitchen watching Marie as she prepared dinner. Tonight though he found himself swinging his truck around and pulling into the parking lot, then entering the bar, which upon closer inspection was rather seedy-looking. This place was definitely a joint – complete with tacky vinyl-covered bar stools, the requisite pool table, a jukebox that only played the 'oldies' and a cloud of hazy, pungent smoke hanging over it all. Logan straddled one of the stools and signaled for the grizzled-looking bartender, who wore a t-shirt that read 'Doesn't speak English'.

"Ya got Molson's?" he asked, figuring the harder stuff was probably watered down.

"No, fancypants, we don't carry that imported shit," the bartender, who obviously did speak English, replied.

"Fine," Logan responded, "then gimme whatever you've got on tap."

The bartender filled a tall glass and set it down in front of Logan, hard enough to make some of the golden brown liquid slosh onto the bar. He fixed Logan with a look as if he were challenging him to ask for a napkin. Obviously the man was neither impressed nor intimidated by Logan's uniform.

Logan picked up the glass, saluted the old buzzard and took a long swallow as the man shuffled off down to the other end of the bar.

He'd just taken another large chug when he realized that someone had sat down on the stool to his immediate right. From the subtle trace of perfume that tickled his nose, he knew without having to look that the someone in question was female.

"Got a light?" A honey-coated voice practically purred as a cigarette came into his line of vision.

Logan reached into his pocket and withdrew the engraved lighter that had been a stocking stuffer present from Marie the previous Christmas and turned toward the owner of the cigarette. He actually felt his breath catch in his throat as he found himself staring at what had to be one of the most beautiful women he'd ever set eyes on – straight golden blonde hair that dusted her shoulders in a silky curtain, dark eyes - the exact color being indeterminate in the dim light of the bar, and full deep-pink lips that he thought looked very kissable. Skimming his eyes down he saw the whole 'package' was very nice and all wrapped up in expensive tailored clothes. He wondered what a classy woman like her was doing in such an obvious dump like this.

She wiggled the cigarette, interrupting his surveillance and assessment, and smiled seductively at him. As Logan fumbled with the lighter, she licked her lips and the black pants of his uniform suddenly felt several sizes smaller in the crotch area. After all, while he may be happily married, he wasn't dead. An image of how she'd look unwrapped and writhing beneath him as he thrust into her swam before his eyes. He took another quick swallow of his beer in an attempt to douse the flame of desire threatening to consume him.

"You look very familiar," she said, "have we met before?"

"Been in prison lately?" Logan responded.

She leaned toward him, affording him a peek of cleavage, and whispered, "Yeah, I just escaped from the place on the hill, but keep that to yourself."

"You did notice the uniform?" he asked with a teasing smile, and then with a flick of his eyebrows added, "I ain't a Boy Scout."

Pursing her begging-for-a-kiss lips and giving him a heated look, she said, "God, I hope not." Then took a dainty sip of her martini.

Even though Logan was thoroughly enjoying the flirting he knew it could easily head into dangerous territory. He raised his left hand so that his gold wedding band twinkled in the light and informed her that he was already taken. Then before he was tempted to forget that crucial detail and take her across the street to the Comfort Inn, he slapped enough money down on the bar to cover his beer and slid off the stool. Once he was outside he practically run to his truck, needing to put as much distance between him and sin personified as quickly as possible.

Thankfully, his hard-on had finally subsided by the time he pulled the truck into the garage. Bypassing the kitchen, deciding the frozen entrée could wait, he went upstairs to change and shower first. He'd just finished stripping and tossing his clothes into the hamper when the security alarm went off. Quickly yanking on some jeans, he went downstairs to investigate – cursing when he realized he'd left his gun upstairs. He was relieved to discover the wind had simply blown open one of the French doors leading out to the backyard and apparently that's what had tripped the alarm. Closing and locking the door and re-arming the security system, he went back upstairs.

As he entered the master suite he discovered that he was no longer alone in the house. The gorgeous blonde from the bar was currently draped across the bed – his and Marie's bed. Not knowing the woman's intentions, he moved to get his gun from where he'd dropped it on the chaise, but all he found was an empty holster.

"Looking for this?"

Logan's head snapped up to see that she'd acquired his gun and it was presently aimed right at him.

_Shit!_

"What do you want?" he managed to get out evenly, knowing it was important to maintain his composure and not agitate her while he tried to figure out a way to regain control of the situation.

"You really don't remember who I am, do you? I'm so disappointed," she pouted as she scooted off the bed and stood up.

Her panties became uncomfortably damp as she stared at the delicious-looking powerful male specimen standing before her. It was amazing what the ugly beige shirt of his uniform had hidden; no one could probably imagine his chest was quite that spectacular. Her eyes drank in the bulging pecs covered in a blanket of dark hair and then followed the trail of hair down his washboard stomach to where it disappeared into the top of his jeans. A small sigh escaped as she fantasized about mapping his body with her mouth – licking and nibbling everywhere.

Logan wracked his brain trying to place her, hoping it might help him find a weakness he could exploit before her trigger finger got itchy. After all he didn't want Marie and the kids to come home and find his bullet-riddled body.

"You're the one trying to recruit my wife to sell Tupperware, right?"

"Maybe this will help jar your memory," she said huskily as she unbuttoned her mocha-colored silk blouse to reveal a black lace bra that barely contained her breasts, a tiny biohazard symbol tattoo visible on the curve of the left one.

As his hard-on was renewed, Logan suddenly recognized her. She'd done a six-month stretch at his facility for running a high-class call girl operation. She'd attempted to seduce him – very unoriginal – but he'd rebuffed her with his standard 'married and satisfied' spiel. He remembered his senior officer Scott Summers had practically come in his pants the first time he'd laid eyes on her. She'd had a similar effect on at least a dozen guards, who were all more than willing to leave their morals at the entrance gate. However, it was Summers who'd been routinely nailing her until her parole three months earlier.

Summers had since found a new plaything in the latest arrival Kitty Pryde, who was awaiting trial for the shooting death of her boyfriend Peter. All the evidence pointed to self-defense, so Kitty's stay at Westchester Correctional was likely to be short-lived, which meant that Summers would soon be on the prowl for yet another conquest. Not that Logan blamed him. If he were married to Jean, the prison's attending physician, and her icy demeanor, he'd find a way to defrost his dick too.

Luckily for Logan, Marie was the complete opposite of the definition of frosty. In fact their sex life was even more sizzling now then when they'd first married a decade earlier. Remembering the near-perfect life he had with her, and his objective not to do anything idiotic to screw that up, made him more resolved to avoid the temptation currently being dangled in front of him. And he had no doubt that she had no intention of shooting him, preferring to be the one who was 'plugged' instead. He'd resisted her on the inside, but the gun afforded her the power she hadn't had before. A loaded weapon aimed squarely at them would be enough to 'deflate' most men, but Logan's hard-on persisted in being uncooperative. Figuring there was no way to hide the prominent bulge in his jeans, he stood there – quietly and defiantly – his eyes challenging her to make the next move.

He didn't have to wait long.

"Strip," she ordered, cocking the hammer of the gun to emphasize the seriousness of the command.

Not having bought himself enough time to formulate a plan to regain control, he knew he'd have no choice but to follow her orders for now. He popped open the button and slid the zipper down slowly realizing that in another ten seconds he'd be naked and even more vulnerable. Keeping his gaze locked on her, he dropped the jeans and watched her eyes go wide. Tamping down the temptation to make a smartass comment, he simply stepped out of the pile of faded denim and crossed his arms over his broad chest and let her stare.

"Hmm, very nice," she said as she raked her eyes up and down him then licked her lips in a 'no room for misinterpretation of what that meant' way.

"All prisoners must shower daily," she said using the gun to point towards the bathroom.

So that was her little game – turning the tables on one of her captors. Maybe that was all she wanted, to simply humiliate him for a while. Logan ambled over to the shower stall and turned the water on, then got in and moved to close the frosted glass door.

"Leave it open," she told him.

He grabbed the bar of Dial from the soap holder and began to lather up his chest.

"Lack of privacy's a bitch, isn't it?"

"If you're expecting me to be feel bad 'cause you were in a prison instead of getting pampered at Club Med – it ain't gonna happen," Logan said unapologetically as he rinsed off and went to put the soap down.

"You missed a spot," she said indicating the area below his waist.

Logan lathered up the soap again and proceeded to wash his groin area. Keeping his eyes fixed on her the whole time he ran his hand up and down his length in slow, deliberate strokes.

"I think I'm jealous of that bar of soap," she laughed.

He rinsed off again, shut off the water and stepped out of the stall. She tossed a small towel at him – purposely choosing one not large enough to adequately cover him. As he walked back into the bedroom, Logan patted himself dry as best he could with the small scrap of terrycloth then threw it aside – modesty having long been abandoned.

"You know the only reason you're in control is because of the gun," he boldly taunted, "You can't face me on equal terms."

Dropping her eyes to his erection she retorted, "I see the way you're reacting to me, I don't need the gun."

Of course she'd have to be blind not to notice that despite his best efforts he was intensely aroused.

"Prove it then. Put the gun down," he challenged.

"So you can make a grab for it – I don't think so," she replied, shaking her head.

"It would kinda negate my point if I turned it on you," he said, hoping he sounded convincing.

"I may be blonde, but I'm not a bimbo with an IQ smaller than my bra size," she said, wondering just how foolish he thought she was.

With the gun still pointed at him, she kicked off her shoes, then awkwardly wriggled out of her blouse and skirt – leaving her in just the black lace bra and matching thong. Logan swallowed hard and tried, but failed to tear his eyes away. She pushed him down onto the chaise, put the gun down, just out of his reach, and then resisting the urge to sink to her knees and take him into her mouth, she perched herself on his lap instead. Logan grabbed her roughly, causing her to gasp in surprise, and crushed his mouth to hers in a searing kiss. She immediately responded, opening her mouth just enough for him to slide his tongue inside to taste the martini she'd had at Jack's. While she was distracted he used the opportunity to retrieve something from his uniform's belt and in a flash he had her arms behind her back and locked into a pair of handcuffs.

"Son of a bitch!" she hissed as she struggled in vain.

"Hey, I only promised I wouldn't use the gun," Logan reminded her as she squirmed all too enticingly on his lap.

"So much for a level playing field. Now who has the unfair advantage?"

"I don't need the cuffs to be in control," he replied, knowing she was trying to bait him into doing something stupid.

"You're so full of shit, Logan," she provoked and gave another wiggle for good measure.

Ignoring the little voice that told him it was a supremely bad idea; he released one of her wrists from the manacles. She brought her hands around to the front and popped open the closure of her bra then shrugged it off and dropped it to the floor. Logan took a moment to just stare at all that creamy exposed skin tipped with pert dark pink nipples. Unable to resist, he surrendered to temptation, leaned down and swirled his tongue around one rosy tip before drawing it into his mouth and sucking gently. She put her arms around his neck and threaded her fingers through his thick hair – the cuffs that were still attached to her one wrist dangled down his back. He continued to alternate feathery licks and gentle sucks of the now stiff little nubbin and enjoyed hearing the throaty little moans his ministrations were eliciting from her.

After favoring the other nipple with the same treatment, Logan dusted a trail of moist kisses up to her face and devoured her mouth hungrily. Despite the photographs scattered around the room, which chronicled his life as a family man, he found himself incapable of denying that he wanted the woman in his arms. Something he'd heard on television the other night flashed through his brain ~_'If you're not living on the edge, you're taking up too much space' ~ _well, this certainly qualified as balancing precariously on the edge of a cliff with a dangerously sheer drop.

He stood up and she cooperatively wrapped her legs around his waist and with one hand splayed across her back and the other under her bottom, he walked them over to the bed. Sweeping aside the comforter he gently laid her down on the 400-count sheets that Marie had just purchased from Bergdoff-Goodman's.

The lace thong was the only thing left between Logan and heaven and he practically ripped the scrap of fabric off of her. He forcibly splayed her legs apart and sank his mouth onto her as she let out a strangled gasp. She writhed against him as he continued his oral assault – licking her with abandon. He felt the vibrations of her oncoming orgasm, and with a practiced flick of his tongue took her over the edge.

As she was recovering, Logan shifted up and pressed delicate kisses to her neck as his hands roamed all over her exquisite body. She moaned and wriggled under his touch as he stroked his tongue over her throat. Just then Logan heard a decisive 'clink' and discovered that she'd locked the empty cuff around his wrist, effectively binding them together.

"*Now* we're on completely equal ground," she whispered against his ear and then gave the lobe a fleeting lick.

Logan let out a low groan and wondered if all women instinctively knew which man's earlobes were an erogenous zone. He raised himself up and smiled knowingly as he maneuvered himself between her legs. Then keeping his eyes locked on hers, he entered her in one smooth thrust. He slid his free hand under her bottom, pulled her toward him and sank in to the hilt.

"Oh yes," she sighed and wrapped her legs around him.

He was tempted to ride her hard, to fuck her as opposed to making love to her, but found himself being far more tender than he'd planned. They laced together the fingers on their shackled hands and used their free hands to caress each other. They undulated for a while and then Logan managed to flip them over so that she was now on top. One large hand was on her small waist, while her free hand explored his muscular chest. He knew he should feel guilty about deriving so much pleasure from watching her breasts bouncing gently as she rocked back and forth on him.

"Oh God, I'm gonna come," she declared as she arched her back and ground down on him even harder.

Logan tightened his grip on her waist and thrust up as he felt his own climax approaching, vibrating all the way down his body and rushing headlong toward his cock. With a warning growl he emptied himself into her just a moment before she shattered in her own powerful orgasm. She collapsed against him in a damp boneless heap and taking little gulps of air, as he fought to get his own ragged breathing under control. He closed his eyes – intending it to be for only a minute or two.

When Logan reopened his eyes the morning light was already shining brightly. His bedmate was standing next to the 'scene of the crime' dressed in Marie's favorite worn Levi's and a low-cut forest green shirt that clung in all the right places. He looked her over appreciatively.

"Time to get back to reality," Marie said as she slipped on her wedding ring.

The blonde wig she'd worn last night had been discarded and was lying on the dresser, her own chestnut hair shimmering in the sunlight.

"What time is your mom dropping the kids off?" Logan asked his wife.

"In about an hour. And she wants you to check out that rattling noise on her car, so you'd

better get that damn fine ass of yours out of bed and put some clothes on," she told him as she leaned over and gave him a quick kiss.

Logan sat up and that's when he realized that while he was in a post-orgasmic coma, Marie had freed herself from her half of the handcuffs, but he was still locked into his side.

"If you want me to fix your mom's car, darlin' you better get these offa me," he told her, then with a wiggle of his eyebrows added, "Unless you want her to know how kinky we are."

Marie laughed as she retrieved the key and then unlocked him from the device. As she went to stand up again, he caught her wrist in one of his hands. "Nice touch," he said as he licked a finger on his other hand and smeared the 'tattoo'.

"It was supposed to mean I was untouchable, you naughty boy," Marie said with a teasing smile.

"You know I never could resist playing with dangerous things," he said mischievously and gave her a lop-sided grin.

"I'm just glad you don't play in someone else's yard."

"Never. I love you, Marie."

"I know, and I love you," she replied then added, "Next time I'll wear your uniform and be the prison guard and you can be the former inmate."


End file.
